Hanging High
by jayfk
Summary: This is the emotional rollercoaster like story about a man named Scott Mescudi.


**Chapter One**

* * *

This day was different. I felt it as soon as I woke up this morning. I didn't know what it was; maybe the air something. An ire feeling hanging on the curves between my neck and shoulders. I didn't know if it was good or bad. It was different. Instead of running it over in my head, I ignore it and went on with my morning routine.

I made my way through my cramped apartment that stood on Bergen street in Brooklyn, New York. It's a mayhem of disorganization and wonders. Over the four years I've been living here I've learned how to maneuver my way through this apartment perfectly without knocking anything out of place, but today, I fell. I left my room, walked into the living room, stepped around the pizza boxes on the floor and didn't watch the distance between my foot and the coffee table. My big toe collided right into our worn down wooden coffee table causing me to yelp in pain. I hopped around for a while and hopped right onto my magic eight ball. I fell hard on my back. Luckily we have carpet. I laid there, reflecting, as my neighbors below bumped the ceiling, expressing their annoyance with my noise. "Shut up," I mumbled, "What the fuck?"

Travis walked out the bathroom diagonal from my room. He looked at me and shook his head at me. "Dumb ass." I couldn't help from wondering, why the fuck is he so dressed up? Travis has been my best friend since as long as I could remember and I love that guy with all my heart. So I'm sure he wouldn't be offended if I described him as a bum because that's just what he is. He usually rolls out of bed and grabs the closest clothes to him and throws it on, walking out the house with all kinds of things in his curls, but it's clear he took the time out to think out his outfit today. Crisp white button up with a black pencil tie, fresh fitted 501's and brand new cardinal red Vans, I had to ask. "Hey butt-lick, what's the occasion?"

He walked over to the kitchen as if I never asked him. I hurled myself off the floor and went to the kitchen, thinking of all the reasons on why he would get dressed up. Was it his birthday? Nah, that was some months ago. Jesus, we were so drunk that night we hardly remember. Travis leaned back against the counter and I sat at the island directly infront of him. "Aye, you gon' answer my question?" Travis slid his fingers through his curls and scratched the side of his head while holding his glass of water.

He chuckled, "Man, I don't even know."

As soon as he said that, I realized, "Are you dressed up for…nah dude, you wouldn't be." I glared at him in disbelief. Is he kidding?

"Scott man, shut up," he snarled. My laughter was probably annoying him even more. "Are you god?" he simpered.

"No," I answered.

"Then don't judge me!" he shouted jokingly.

"Nah. You need an intervention, my fellow roommate. As a friend, I can't let you walk out the door trying to pursue something that's just ain't gonna happen." Travis rolled his eyes.

"It's your negativity. If I don't get laid today it's 'cuz of you sending me bad vibes. So yeah, fuck you and eat something. Like a dick." I couldn't believe he was still chasing after her. "And you know what? Honestly, she's feelin' yo' boy. She's just playin' hard to get or you know, I intimidate her."

"Whatever dude, don't make excuses for her. She's a yamp and I honestly don't think it's worth it, you know, you going after her the way you do. It's pathetic."

"Alright dude," he says as he waves his of water in the air. "I'm sorry that everyone is not as blessed as you. It's not everyday that a person has a bitch on call that they can fuck every time they're in need." I closed my eyes and exhaled slow. He really hates my girlfriend and I always have to pretend I don't hear the stupid shit he says about her. "Oh yeah and she cleans from time to time."

"See, I was trying to be nice about the whole ordeal, but fuck it. First off, her name is Rontoya. What the fuck? And-and her fucking raggedy ass homegirls call her Ron for short and she tells you to call her Ron. Like it's okay. That's bad news because I know her family is ignorant because they gave her a dumb ass name. So if her parents are stupid, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Look man, the first time you met her, it was at a bar and she ordered a 'virgin cranberry'-"

"Fuck you," he said in the midst of laughter. "Fuck you. I knew you were going to bring that shit up," he was laughing hard because he knows I'm telling the truth.

"Look man, I'm going to Eddie's. He's stocked up on the Maui Wowie. Instead of wasting your time, let's turn this place into a gas chamber."

"Sounds tempting man," he says as he puts his glass in the sink, "but I'll have to pass. I want some ass. My hand is tired." I shook my head in disappointment. I couldn't believe him, but I had to accept it.

"Alright man, do you." We slapped our hands into a handshake and then he slapped the whole right side and ran for the door.

"Don't wait up sweetheart," he said in his girly voice, "I'm not coming home tonight." I flipped him off and he walked out the door.

I honestly could not believe he was still gunning after Rontoya. Every time I say her name, I feel foolish. It's been two months since he met her and he's been hounding her constantly. She doesn't seem to be the slightest interested, but yet and still, he wants her. She's not even that cute. I don't know, maybe I'm missing something. I do hope, for the sake of my best friend, that she does fuck him tonight.

Makes me grateful of my girlfriend of two years, Elle. Travis was right about that, I am blessed to have someone I can fuck on the regular. So I don't have to worry about my hand getting tired or being so strung out that I have to resort in fucking extra irregular females like Rontoya. My girlfriend is pretty dope. She's one of those high yellow girls with pretty eyes and freckles on her face. Bouncy, curly black hair that would probably adorn her face, but she always straightens it. Long legs, cute ass, she's good on the eyes. On top of that, she's really career oriented. She scored a job with this Law Firm as one of those partner's assistant. We've been going out for almost two years. I think I love her. She loves me too. Her being in my life makes it less miserable and a little easier to live out here in New York.

Weed also makes it easier. I stood up from the island and I headed for the bathroom. I had to take a shower so I could meet up with Eddie in two hours. I wanted some Maui Wowie!

**  
Hours Later…**

I was awaken by my phone playing "Prototype" by Outkast on the box I had set up next to my bed. I reached for my phone with half of my face in my pillow. I was nearly swallowed by the night with a little moon light to save me. The cold air from outside sank into my skin. When I brought my Blackberry to my face, the light stung my eyes. Why do people do this is to other people? They know that when you call someone in a late hour which guarantees that someone is sleep, when the person picks up the phone, the light from the phone fucks his or her eyes up. I pressed talk and "Yeah?"

"Scott, you didn't call me?" Elle's irritated voice sounded in my ear. I rolled over onto my back and opened my eyes slowly. I totally forgot. She called me earlier while I was out and asked me to call her when I got home. I got high and for got about all obligations.

"Damn, my bad. I forgot." She sighed into the phone. I could feel her attitude through the phone. I wasn't in the mood for this. I just wanted to sleep. "So what's up?"

"What time do you get off work tomorrow?"

"Six in the P.M," I replied, forcing enthusiasm in my limp voice. "Why? You coming over tomorrow?"

"Well, my girlfriend's in town and she wanted to meet you."

"Whaaaat? You got a girlfriend too?" She laughed. I successfully diffused the situation. I felt an argument in the air. I had a feeling she called to argue because it's been her pattern for the past week. "My girl got a girlfriend. Wow."

"Shut up stupid," she sneered with a little lightness in her voice. "Can you try picking up the phone?" Here we go again.

"I'll try babe."

"Scott seriously," she whined. I hate it when she whines. I wanted to tell her to grow the fuck up.

"I'm serious. You asked me if I can try and I told you I can."

"Why do you always have to do that?" She bickered. I thought I diffused the situation. At this point I was vexed that I was waken up for this shit. She's always trying to find a reason to snap at me. I just want to go to sleep.

"Do what? What the fuck did I do now, love?" I asked lethargically.

"Why do you have to curse at me?"

"I don't want to do this shit tonight. It's-" I took the phone from my ear to see what time it was, "Almost midnight. I mean what do you want from me?"

"I want you to stop being such an asshole, Scott. How hard is it to pick up the phone? Do you not care about me? You never take anything I say seriously."

"Why do you have to take it there? Just because I forget one minor call, all of a sudden I don't care. If I didn't care I wouldn't be here-" It wasn't until two hours later until I actually got off the phone with her and by that time I was wide awake and frustrated. Honestly I don't even remember what the fuck we were arguing about. We've had so many meaningless arguments in the past week, it's hard to keep up with them all. I found myself in the livingroom on the couch smoking a blunt filled with Maui Wowie that I rolled earlier, listening to Radiohead playing from the stereo near the tv. After some minutes, without fail, I was in herbal bliss. The sounds of "There There" played and it just felt right to freestyle on it. "It's the K-I-D and I'm sitting on the couch. I'm high indeed with a blunt mouth-" Then my phone rang again. I didn't even check the Caller ID before I picked it up, I knew it was Elle.

"I thought we resolved this?" I asked.

"Is this Scott Mescudi?" A bass filled, male voice asked. I looked at my phone while taking a puff of my blunt. I'd never seen the number before.

"Yeah," I answered as I exhaled the smoke. "Who's this?"

"This is Detective Ackerman from the NYPD-" As soon as I heard the letters NYPD, smoke got caught in my throat and I started to cough real hard. I hopped off the couch and tossed my blunt out the window. I don't know why I did. I just got really paranoid. Like they were watching me from outside or they installed cameras in my house.

"Hello?" I struggled to say, trying to tame my coughing.

"Yes. From the information I've been given, this was the number to reach you at. I am to understand that you are Travis' roommate?" I can't explain why my heart started racing the way it did. All I could think of is "what the fuck did travis get into?"

"Yes sir. I am," my voice squeaked in mid-sentence. I could feel the perspiration forming on my skin, everywhere. It felt like my insides dropped an inch.

"Sir, I'm sorry to inform you that at approximately three o' clock this evening we found Travis on the corner of Saint Johns Place and Underhill Avenue. He was caught in a cross fire between-"

"What?" I hardly mustered out. I literally lost my breath. My stomach tied into a knot.

"I'm sorry sir-"

"Don't fuckin' play with me. What?!"

"Travis was murdered this evening, sir." I hung up my phone. My chest felt like it was caving in and I couldn't move if I tried. I didn't know if this was real, but I was scared into a paranormal state of shock. A swell of emotions came over me and I ran for my room and picked up my shirt and threw it on. I grabbed my keys, put on my shoes and rushed out the house.

**  
Four Months Later…**

It was just one of those days when I couldn't help but to point out all the negative things in my life. It made work hell. I had spread my energy across the store. Everyone questioned my well being just to cure their nagging curiosities, but no one really cared. Since no one could possibly remedy me or even try to care, I let their curiosities eat at them. You know what I mean? Like when you're having a bad day and someone asks you what's wrong. Then you finally tell them and all they say is "oh." Or some whack response that doesn't give you a solution, it was only said so they can be able to say that they tried. When in all truth, they didn't care in the first place. They just wanted to know your business so they can spread it across the work place or whatever. I hated work today. All the eyes from everyone made my skin crawl and my back tense. So when I got home, I was elated. I had a fat blunt waiting for me on my coffee table. It would wash away all the pessimistic energy I had in me. It would get me away from this low surface I've landed on.

I wanted to get so high to the point where all I could think about is how high I am. I wanted to get high and eat the rest of the food I had in the fridge and pass out into a heavenly sleep. I wanted to smoke off the edge.

When I walked in my place with my mail in hand, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I didn't bother to answer it because I only had one thing in mind. Picking up my phone wasn't it. I flipped through my mail, going through final notices, including one from my landlord. Informing me that I had a certain amount of days to turn in last month's rent. I hardly had my half. I had put out an ad for a roommate, but no one ever responded. I let out an exasperated sigh trying to ignore my unsettling thoughts. I swear I was on the verge of a break down.

I threw my black backpack whatever and walked to my kitchen. I stripped down to my underwear and picked up my black Jordan basketball shorts off the kitchen floor from were I left them earlier. I ended up on my couch with a Heineken and a blunt full of Maui Wowie. Minutes later, I was feeling the effects. With the buzz from a couple of beers and high from the blunt, I was left with a beatific smile. I felt all…enchanted. I slumped down in my leather sofa and rested my head. I inhaled the smoke slow with my eyes close. Then I realized I should check my phone as I exhaled. When I got it, it said that I missed a phone call from Elle. Without thought, I called her back.

"What's up, I couldn't find my phone," I lied before she could fret. I took another puff of the blunt. She let out an abraded sigh. She didn't believe me.

"Scott.."

"I love you," I sang into the phone and I thought I heard a chuckle.

"I love you too," she said after a long pause that I didn't notice. My blunt was at a near end. I tried to manage this roach. I also didn't notice the pregnant pause after she told me she loved me.

"So, you're coming over right?"

"Why? You miss me?" she teasingly asked in her alluring flirtatious voice. Yeah, I missed her. I missed her a whole lot. We hadn't spend a lot of time together because of our crossed schedules. She kept me sane. She was the only person that could bring light into my days lately.

"I can't lie," I admitted coyly.

"Well, I get off in an hour and a half. I'll be over."

"Thank you," she laughed as if I made a joke. I was serious. I needed to thank her. She helped me cling on to the goodness I had left in me.

"I'll see you." I put out the tiny bit of blunt I had and tossed it in the trash.

"Bye." I hung up the phone and looked at my place. It was a pig sty. I placed my phone on the counter before I addressed my filthy house issue. I had to make it decent at the least for Elle. I know I'm a wreck, but my place doesn't have to be. I cut on my stereo and the left over sounds of Aaliyah's "Loose Rap" float out into my ears. I opened the windows to air out the smell of weed. Elle couldn't stand the smell now that she quit. She frowns her face at a lot of things now. It was ever since she landed that job at the firm. As much as I don't want to admit it, she's changed. I remember how we used to hot box in an old abandon Volkswagon Bus that used to be around the corner. She didn't want to get in at first, but she did anyway. We got so high that day, we pretended to go on vacation. Instead of use being in an old dilapidated VW bus in NYC, we were driving along shore in Hawaii. She used to be funnier back then.

After I was done with the half ass cleaning, I cooked spaghetti for us because I only had those ingredients. I tasted some of my sauce, super bomb, or maybe it was because of my intoxication. As soon as I rationed out the spaghetti onto two plates, she knocked on my door. By that time, "Competition Gets None," by Peanut Butter Wolf was playing. I opened the door with a smile and she smiled back. She walked past me and I watched her hips sway as she walked. She turned around and my eyes met hers. I smiled menacingly. She smirked. I raised my hands as if I was displaying my home and explained, "This is the electric relaxation zone. Anything bad or just…not good must stay on the other side of this door." I didn't notice how loud I was. She cocked her head back in amazement.

"Scott, are you high?" I grinned. Just the word "high" boosted my high.

I held up my thumb and index finger up, an half inch apart. "Just a little bit. Just a little. But I made you some spaghetti though." I couldn't relax my smile. I strutted across my apartment into the kitchen like I was a pimp, hoping it would make her laugh. I heard nothing. I picked up our plates and met her at the couch. I sat down next to her and set my plate in my lap. I looked over at her and her beauty was mesmerizing. "You're beautiful," I let her know. She looked away, with no expression.

"Thank you," she said in no tone. I thought nothing of it. Maybe she was just being bashful. I turned off my stereo and turned on the TV and cured my munchies. After about an hour of spaghetti and laughing at "Sanford and Son." I realized that Elle was still here. I looked over and she sat on her side, tensed up, her face positioned away from me. Obviously bothered by something. I was oblivious to her watching my every move intently. Scrutinizing and dissecting everything I did. I didn't know that she was annoyed by me. All I knew was that she hardly touched her spaghetti and I was still hungry. So I asked, "Are you going to finish-" and before I could get my last word out, she shoved the plate in my hands. It was clear, something was wrong. I set her plate in my lap and stared at her to see if I could read it off her face. I couldn't.

"Are you okay?"

"No," she stated icily.

"What's wrong?" She ran her right hand through her limp, long black hair, something she does out of frustration. She turned her body to face me on the couch and looked at me with anxious eyes.

"Everything," she finally responded calmly as if it took everything she had to come up with that one word. I didn't understand what she was getting at. What could possibly be wrong this time?

"Um, sweetheart, could you be a little less vague?"

"Everything!" she blurted out as she slightly bounced up in her seat. I guess she read the confusion on my face, she continued. "You, me, this whole…whatever it is that we call it. It's wrong!" she voiced vehemently. I couldn't muster out a word. I just stared at her incredulously. My mind went blank as I struggled to grasp a question. I didn't know where this came from. I know that I didn't do anything since she got here.

All I could think of was, "What's going on?"

Her eyes widen as if I she couldn't believe I asked that. Then she replied, calmly, "Nothing. Absolutely nothing's going on. That is the problem, nothing is going on."

"Wait, what are you trying to say exactly?"

"It's over Scott. I can't be with you anymore. I can't do this." I stared at her to see if she was serious. He face reeked of contempt for me and I knew that it was over. "Look, it's nothing that you did to me specifically. It's just I know you and me…you'd just be better off on your own. You know, I can't do this same routine all the time." I couldn't wrap my head around what she was saying. My high was crash down. I tossed the plate of spaghetti on the coffee table causing some of it to hit the floor. I stared into her eyes, trying to mask my aggravation.

"Thank you for being kind enough to let me down easy," I said as I got up and headed to the fridge to get a beer since my high was at a near end. I said that with as much sincerity that I could possibly muster out.

"What?" she snapped. I turned around slowly.

"I said 'thank you for letting me down easy.' I guess you figured that you couldn't be truthful because you wanted to watch out for my feelngs. I'm a big boy, Elle." I laughed dubiously.

"What?!" She stared at me as if I was the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen.

"Look Elle, if there's someone else, you can tell me. You don't have to do that." That sentence seemed to set her off. She hopped off the couch and her eyes widen even wider than before.

"There is nobody else!" I sighed just wanting this to end. I didn't care to argue. I didn't want to care. It was over, what was there left to fuss over. No sense of crying over spilled milk, but she stood there, glowering at me. I stood there smugly. She felt obligated to continue. "I just got a raise at my job today and it made me realize…I'm leaving you because all you ever do is sit on this very couch, smoke and watch TV. I'm tired of sitting here wasting my life away with you. You do nothing with your life and you are complacent with that. You like living the way you do. I don't know what happened because you used to have ambitions. You said you wanted pursue your music career, but the closest thing to that that I've seen you do is listen to music and sit on this damn couch! You smoke your life away. Maybe if you weren't high all the time you would be able to see this. Maybe you have a problem-"

"Don't fuckin' say that," I said relentlessly. She was taken aback by my coldness. "I can't believe you are going to sit here and come at me with some shit…like I'm a fucking drug addict. Did it escape your memory that you used to blaze more than me? And then you sit here, all of a sudden, on this high horse judging me like you have the right. Fuck you." Her mouth dropped open, in astonishment. "Not to sound cliché, but I'm a grown ass man and if I want to get high in my own apartment, I will. This is the rough patch of my life and if I smoke a lot more than usual, then maybe it's because my girl ain't doin' her job." My high was completely gone. I stood in-between the kitchen and living room eyeing her in distain. I was just exhausted and annoyed by this whole situation. She stared at me, her face flushed red, obviously hurt. "It's just a rough patch. When your boyfriend is having trouble in his life, you don't fuckin' bail!!" I surprised myself by yelling, not from hurt, just from frustration.

"See Scott, that's the thing. You've been going through a rough patch since I met you." I turned around and continued to get my beer. I didn't care anymore. She was one less person I had to care about. I know it should have hurt to be dumped like this, but it didn't. I literally felt nothing. It didn't change my overall mood. I was just mad that I had to inconvenience myself in dealing with her. I headed to my room. "Get the fuck out please and lock the door," I stated plainly. I didn't look back at her as I closed my door. I opened my beer and sat on the edge of my beer. I drank a couple of sips as I waited to hear the door slam. It honestly took her longer than I expected and I was going to go back out there to see what her problem was. Just as I was about to get up, I heard the door slam and made my wall slightly quake. She was livid. I leaned back on my bed, keeping my beer leveled, thinking aloud to myself, "Why do I have to deal with this?"


End file.
